Monthly Blog Post - December

Here we are already in December, in Old English Ærra Gēola "Before Yule", or "First Yule".

This year 1st December falls on a Sunday, or in Old English, Sunnandæg. I don't think any of this really requires a translation, especially when we remember that often-times a 'g' is soft, like a 'y' and so it's easy to see how Gēola becomes Yule, and dæg becomes day.

Christmas, too, is easy enough: Cristes Mæsse.

There's not a great deal of information about how Christmas was celebrated, but one thought always makes me smile - imagine if the Anglo-Saxons had a similar routine to that of modern times, where offspring and their partners take it in turns to visit parents for the festive period. I'm thinking in particular about the families of Penda of Mercia and Oswiu of Northumbria in the seventh century. It really would have been the perfect set up (let's leave aside the fact that of the extended families, Penda alone was a pagan) as three of Penda's children married into Oswiu's family.

His daughter Cyneburh married Alhfrith of Northumbria, while his son Peada married Alhfrith's sister Alhflæd, and then at some point their half-sister Osthryth married Penda's youngest son, Æthelred. On the face of it you'd think these two families would get along tremendously well but no, sadly not. If you've read my novels about Penda's family, Cometh the Hour and The Sins of the Father, you'll know that this was not the case at all and that two of those marriages ended when one partner was murdered. In case you haven't read them, I'll not give any spoilers here!

Of course while I'm mentioning my books, I should also add that you can read more about the lives of Penda and his family in my history of Mercia, Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom and those murders are discussed in greater detail in my new book, Murder in Anglo-Saxon England: Justice, Wergild, Revenge, which will be out in February.

The new book does feature one particularly brutal incident which took place just around Christmas-time: in 780, two ealdormen burnt the king’s patrician, Beorn, in Seletun on 24 December. Was Beorn in his hall, gathered with his family and sitting down at a feast? He was accused by one chronicler of 'unjust severity' but we are not told the exact nature of his perceived crimes.

Of course, December isn't just about Christmas, which let's face it seems to begin in October or November these days. We can still sometimes experience snow, although it seems to happen less often these days. The Old English word for snow was snaw so again, not a huge difference. 

December 13th is St Lucy's or St Lucia's Day and, according to the Old English Martyrology, she was threatened that if she did not renounce her Christian faith, she would be sent to a house of ill-repute and dishonoured until she was dead. But she refused to move and though she was pushed and pulled, stood her ground. She was eventually then bound with ropes and the order was give for her to be stabbed in the stomach with a sword. Still she did not waver, and prophesied that the governor would die that day, and indeed he was led to Rome and sentenced to death by the senate. Lucy herself did not die before a priest had arrived to give her the Eucharist. In some later accounts, her eyes were gouged out before she was executed but were miraculously restored before she was buried.

14th-Century Image of St Lucia/Lucy

A grim story. One wonders how the Romans must have shaken their heads at such obstinate and staunch unwavering faith. Before the Gregorian calendar reform in 1752, her feast day occurred on the shortest day of the year (hence the saying “Lucy light, Lucy light, shortest day and longest night”) *

In December we also have the Winter Solstice, or Midwinter, which was also another term for Christmas. 

There is limited information concerning how Christmas was celebrated. We can surmise by the lack of daylight that 'indoors' started calling and when working days were shorter then more pleasant activities - feasting, drinking, story-telling - would be more prevalent. How much was available to eat though?

Food was seasonal, so much would be dried or preserved and there would be no fresh dairy produce as such animals were 'dry' throughout the winter months. We might imagine that at such special feasts, there was fresh meat - hunted wild boar perhaps. There is evidence that wine was produced and drunk in 'England' at the time, along with ale and of course, mead. (I like to be authentic, but I've tried mead numerous times and still don't like it much!) 

We could also picture the scop (pronounced shop) playing tunes on a lyre, singing songs, or reciting poetry. A sense of belonging was important to the culture, where hearth really did mean home. Such gatherings would emphasise this sense of community.

In a recent online lecture, Professor John Blair made the point that a culture which produced such items as the Lindisfarne Gospels and the Staffordshire Hoard would not have lived in plain, timber buildings. Yes, they were made of wood, but we must surely imagine those buildings with carvings and paintings and wall-hangings (which would help to insulate) and so more than likely greenery would be brought inside to decorate the hall at this time of year.

Candlelight was not a choice back then, of course, and those candles might have been made of smelly tallow or sweeter beeswax.

Obviously the Anglo-Saxon era straddles the conversion to Christianity, but the assumed differences between pagan and Christian 'yule' celebrations would provide too much content for a short blog post.

And that just leads me to say that whether or not you celebrate Christmas, or any other midwinter festival or festival of light, I hope that at some point during the dark days you can draw near the fire and gather with friends and/or family.

*https://www.almanac.com/content/month-of-december-holidays-facts-folklore

Anglo-Saxons in the Scottish Court: Joining up the Dots

Often, fiction has been the lure for me to explore aspects of history which take me sideways, rather than back or forth from my favourite period.

I was reading Queen Hereafter, by Susan Fraser King, which tells the story of Margaret of Scotland. She was English, a member of the Anglo-Saxon royal house whose rule was brought to an abrupt end by the events of 1066. 

Margaret is portrayed as fervently religious. Reading the book, I wondered if the author's suggestion is that she was an obsessive compulsive? If so, it's an interesting proposition. Margaret was certainly revered for her religious observance, but on the other hand, was there anything inherently untoward about someone being devout, in those times?

Margaret arriving in Scotland - attribution

I love it when things all fall into place - and it was at this point that they did so, spectacularly. At the same moment as I began reading the chapter in which Margaret arrives at Dunfermline, I found out that our summer holiday booking was for Fife, in Scotland, and we were going to be staying just a few miles outside Dunfermline, where Margaret was buried.

The medieval abbey, founded by Margaret
and rebuilt by her son, David

Margaret's grandfather was Edmund Ironside, the son of Æthelred the Unready who fought, and nearly beat, Cnut. When Cnut became king, Edmund's son, Edward, was exiled, and Margaret was born in Hungary. 

In 1057 her father was recalled to England, being the heir to Edward the Confessor, who was childless and, at this stage, it seemed inevitable that he would remain so. However, Margaret's father died almost immediately upon arrival in England. Her brother, Edgar, became a figurehead for uprising in the aftermath of the Battle of Hastings. Margaret, her siblings, and their mother fled north, initially to Northumbria.

There is some dispute as to when and how they ended up in Scotland. The chronicler Simeon of Durham recorded in 1070 that "King Malcolm, with the consent of his relatives, took in marriage Edgar's sister, Margaret, a woman noble by royal ascent." Others place the date of Margaret and Edgar's arrival in Scotland as 1068.

Malcom Canmore's Tower - Pittencrieff Park, Dunfermline 

What I did know about Margaret was that she was canonised, for her piety, charity and strict observance of the Catholic faith. I had never really joined up the dots though, for her new husband, Malcolm III, also known as Malcolm Canmore, is the same Malcolm who appears in that Scottish play ~ it was this Malcolm who slew Macbeth.

A statue of Margaret in the cave where she
is known to have prayed

The descendants of Malcolm III and Margaret dominated the Scottish monarchy for the next two hundred years, although their reigns were not without challenges.

Malcolm's own journey to the throne was a bloody one. The Annals of England and Ireland are in agreement that Macbeth was put to flight by Malcolm in 1054, and later sources agreed with Shakespeare that this battle took place at Dunsinan. Malcolm killed Macbeth near Aberdeen, at Lumphanan on 15th August 1057, and I just happened to be at Malcolm's power base of Dunfermline/Edinburgh on 15th August this year, 960 years later!

It's a possibility that although Macbeth was killed, his army might in fact have been victorious, because Malcolm was still not considered king.

Macbeth at Dunsinane - John Martin
(Public Domain image)

Macbeth's stepson, Lulach, reigned for a short while but was also killed by Malcolm. The Chronicle of Melrose reported that "[Lulach] fell by the arms of the same Malcolm. The man met his fate at Essie, in Strathbogie."

Even so, Malcolm's slaying of Macbeth and Lulach did not eradicate all rivals to the Scottish throne. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle's entry for 1078 tells us that "In this year King Malcolm captured the mother of Maelslæta and all his best men, and all his treasures, and his live-stock, and he himself escaped with difficulty."

Maelslæta, or Máel Snechtai, was Lulach's son, and was, according to the Irish Annals, the king of Moray. These same annals record, enigmatically, that Malcolm's son Donald, by his first wife, died 'unhappily' in 1085. Was this retribution for the attack on Máel Snechtai?

Malcolm and his eldest son by Margaret, Edward, were killed at the Battle of Alnwick in 1093, fighting against Robert de Mowbray, Earl of Northumbria, and it seems that Margaret died of a broken heart, just a few months later.

Her relics drew huge numbers of pilgrims to Dunfermline abbey until the Reformation, 'when heretics stole into the Kingdome, trampled underfoot all divine and human lawes and seized the sacred moveables on [Dunfermline] Church.'

Margaret's Shrine

A couple of years after my visit to Dunfermline, after I'd completed my book Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom, I was commissioned to write a book focusing on the women of the period. My research for Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England saw me returning to Margaret's story, to study in depth the primary sources for her life, and in particular that written by her own confessor. And as I mention in the book, it was Margaret who, despite never having lived in England, brought the House of Wessex and the House of Normandy together, when her daughter married Henry I.

[all photos by and copyright of the author] 

For more about Margaret's connections, you can also see this wonderful website: https://www.allaboutedinburgh.co.uk/

Crowland Abbey

Back in November 2023, as Storm Ciarán was raging, I drove most of the length of England to visit Crowland Abbey in Lincolnshire, a place which looks from some photos to be a ruin, but is actually still a working parish church. I was greeted as a guest of the priest of Deeping St James, a parish nearby (Reverend Mark conducts services as there is currently no priest in charge at Crowland) and the church wardens (Laura was my contact and made me feel super welcome).

I was there because Crowland has a remarkable history. Anyone who has read Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom will know that I've written about St Guthlac, who began his adult life as a Mercian warrior and then went to Crowland to live out his days as a hermit. He was frequently visited there by a young exile who, when fortunes were reversed, became one of the most successful of all the Mercian kings: Æthelbald (716-757)

Guthlac was born around 674 and the author of his Life, Felix, said that he was of royal Mercian stock and that his father was Penwalh of the Middle Angles (an area under Mercian control). Guthlac began his adult life as a warrior and we are told that he spent time fighting in Wales and on the Mercian/Welsh border, and was for a time an exile among the Welsh (Britons) and learned their language. Perhaps he was there as a hostage. At some point he gave deep thought to his lifestyle and when he was twenty he took up the religious life, first as a monk at Repton* and then as a hermit at Crowland. It was here he was visited by the young royal Mercian exile, Æthelbald, who told him how he had been chased 'hither and thither' by the incumbent king of Mercia. Another visitor was Guthlac's sister, Pega, who received a bad press from some sources who claimed she had tempted him from his path. I wrote about her in my book Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England.

The quatrefoil showing images from Guthlac's life

Recently though my thoughts have turned once again to Crowland, because I refer to it several times in the new book I've just written: Murder in Anglo-Saxon England: Justice, Wergild, Revenge. Guthlac's visitor and friend Æthelbald was, as I said, a powerful and successful king but his reign ended in the worst way, for he was set upon and killed by his own men. It speaks volumes for the murky world of power politics and the succession that he'd begun his reign having been driven away by the incumbent and then was murdered at the end of it.

His is not the only murder story that contains reference to Crowland, however, and I'll get to those. But first, a little  general history of the place.

Crowland Abbey's website tells us that the abbey was a monastery of the Benedictine Order. It's often said that it was founded in memory of St Guthlac early in the eighth century by his friend, King Æthelbald but the assumption of this is based on fourteenth-century forgers. ** The abbey was completely destroyed and most of the community killed by the Danes in 866. It was refounded during the reign of King Eadred*** but was destroyed by fire in 1091, but rebuilt about twenty years later. Sadly it was burned down again in 1170, but it enjoyed peace and prosperity thereafter until the Dissolution of the Monasteries during Henry VIII's reign. 

The abbey's website also says that, 'At the time of the Dissolution the abbot was John Welles, or Bridges, who with his twenty-seven monks subscribed to the Royal Supremacy in 1534, and five years later surrendered his house to the king... The site and buildings were granted in Edward VI’s reign to Edward Lord Clinton, and afterwards came into the possession of the Hunter family. The remains of the abbey were fortified by the Royalists in 1643, and besieged and taken by Cromwell in May of that year.'

As you can see from my photos, the ruins are picturesque and the abbey church still intact. But the abbey is not the only interesting edifice in Crowland. Just a very short walk into the village itself brings you to a bridge which crosses... nothing.

No, it's not some kind of folly. The bridge is mentioned by King Æthelbald in the foundation charter for the abbey in 716 (S82) though of course the surviving bridge dates from much later. It originally crossed the River Welland but when the water course was re-routed in the seventeenth century which left the bridge literally high and dry. Its shape is interesting as it is a three-way arch bridge, built to cross not only the Welland but one of its tributaries.

Photo by Thorvaldsson: Accreditation Link

Crowland has been in the news recently as archaeologists continue to excavate and examine the historic sites. There is an excellent article published earlier in 2024 which gives a summary of the recent work:

Sacred Landscapes and Deep Time: Mobility, Memory, and Monasticism on Crowland, by Duncan W Wright and Hugh Willmott.

But let's return to the abbey itself, and my primary reason for visiting. Its history was reportedly preserved in the annals known as the Croyland Chronicle, begun by one of its abbots, Ingulf, though the earlier section accredited to him is widely believed to be a forgery. But from Ingulf's history we get details of a Viking attack which left most of the community there dead or dying, and though we have no corroborating evidence, the date does seem to tie in with the known Viking activity in the area at the time. I got to 'meet' one of the possible victims, but I'll save the photos of that for the new book! (I can tell you, it was quite the experience, and very moving.)

After Æthelbald's assassination in 757, another man ruled briefly before being 'dislodged' by perhaps the most famous (or should that be notorious?) Mercian king: Offa. He was accused - in some sources with the connivance or even at the urging of his wife - of murdering the king of East Anglia, who had visited Offa's court in the hope of marrying one of his daughters. When the visiting king was slain, his grieving would-be fiancée took herself to Crowland.

One of the last stories in my forthcoming book concerns a man who survived the Norman Conquest and rebelled against William. He was Earl Waltheof, and according to the chronicles he was buried at Crowland.

It's rare to be able to visit a site with connections to the Anglo-Saxon era, and to have so many people of note associated with one place is extra special (there's rumours of links to Hereward the Wake, too, but that's perhaps for another blog post!)

Murder in Anglo-Saxon England is available for pre-order from the publisher HERE and from Amazon HERE or wherever you buy your books. It will be released in the UK on Feb 15 2025

*See my post about the Viking camp and the Anglo-Saxon crypt at Repton HERE

**See Bertram Colgrave's Translation of Felix's Life of Saint Guthlac, preface

***For an overview of Eadred's reign you can read my chapter on his rule in Kings and Queens: 1200 Years of English and British Monarchs, edited by Iain Dale and published by Hodder & Stoughton

You can hear a folk song about the attack on the abbey HERE

All photos by and copyright of Annie Whitehead unless otherwise stated.

Monthly Post: October

October: Winterfyllēð "Winter full moon", according to Bede "because winter began on the first full moon of that month [of October]." As one who doesn't especially like winter and can barely tolerate autumn, I prefer not to think of October as the beginning of winter! But already we can see how so many Old English words survive unchanged to this day; there's no need to translate 'winter'. 

When is the full moon this month? It will be on October 17 and will be called the Hunter's Moon. The Hunter's Moon is apparently so-named because it's an ideal time to hunt animals. It's also the first full moon after the Harvest Moon which this year occurred on September 18th. 

Search for images for the month of October in medieval times and you'll find lots which feature wild boar. There's one which I can't share here due to copyright issues, but it has been described thus: 

"A man on foot, with a spear, follows a group of pigs into a wood followed by a second man, also afoot and equipped with a spear, who is blowing a horn and leading dogs. The scene is usually described as 'feeding hogs' but the spears, dogs and horn suggest a more sinister explanation (from the pigs' point of view)." *

Pigs or boar were not the only animal hunted, and we know that deer were, too. Deor, the Old English word, could mean any wild animal, but we have heortas ('hart') and we know that both roe and red deer were hunted.

The nobility would also 'hawk' and here there is a nice word distinction, for it was hawking rather than falconry. Goshawk is an Old English word (goshafoc) and so is Sparrowhawk (spearhafoc) and the latter always makes me smile as it was the nickname of a metal-working monk, who pulled off quite a heist. You can read more about Sparrowhawk HERE 

This year 1st October is a Tuesday: Tiwes daeg (Anglo Saxon Tiw, war god, related to Greek god Zeus), so Tiw's day, and if we remember that often the 'g' is a soft, 'y' sound, it's easy to see how we arrived at our modern 'Tuesday'.

Of course, October 1066 was rather a catastrophic month for the English, when the third major battle of that year took place and Harold Godwineson's luck ran out. It was an event of seismic proportions, drawing a line across English history (many books on that subject don't even mention anything before 1066) and changing the culture and landscape of England. But, as has been pointed out, but for a moment, it could have been a battle that no one really talked about. Had Harold not been killed that day, it would have joined the long list of fights that didn't really change anything and who know how the monarchy would have looked. Well, early on I can tell you that, since Harold was married to a Mercian, there'd have been Mercian blood in the next monarch's veins!

It is such a huge moment in history that a few years ago nine of us got together and wrote a volume of short 'What Ifs'. My contribution was to focus on that Mercian bride and her family, and think about a different fate for her brothers at the battle of Fulford.

You can read all the stories here: 1066 Turned Upside Down

3rd October is, according to the Old English Martyrology, the feast of the Two Hewalds. These were English missionaries who went to preach in Frisia, and were murdered. The details - rather grisly - are in my forthcoming book, Murder in Anglo-Saxon England which is now available for preorder.

October also sees the Feast Days of Saints Æthelburh, abbess of Barking, and Cedd, who also gets a couple of mentions in my new book.

And finally let's not forget that the clocks go back this month in the UK. Many will bemoan the darker evenings but I say if we're going to stop changing the clocks, let's stay on GMT all year round. Remaining on BST over the winter would see parts of the north often not getting light until noon. And a GMT summer would still see us enjoying daylight until around 9pm. And no more losing an hour's sleep in the spring. And let's face it, the Anglo-Saxons wouldn't have messed around moving their sun dials back and forwards...

*The World Before Domesday, Ann Williams

Monthly Post: September

September ushers in the Autumn (or Hærfest, which is very succinct and descriptive, like so much of Old English). The changing of the seasons excites some, depresses others - I must admit, I'm not a fan - and one of the first things that happens in the new school year is the Harvest Festival.

In Anglo-Saxon times, August was Weod-mōnaþ, literally weed month but really perhaps simply "Plant month" (after all, a weed even in modern times is only a plant growing in the 'wrong' place). Bede, the eighth-century monk who gives us so much of our information for this period, said it was the time when weeds grow most abundantly. But this is the time when the flowers tend to bloom, the crops grow and by the end of August/the beginning of September, the harvest is usually in full swing.

In the UK this year it hasn't been the best of summers, with the weather doing unusual things. There's an entry in the Annals of Fulda, composed in East Frankia in the ninth century which records equally unpredictable weather. In Mainz, the sky appeared red for a number of nights and then two clouds, one from the north and one from the south and east fought what was described as a great battle. The land was shaken by two earthquakes and a number of people who were gathering in the harvest were found dead, having died of heat stroke. The chronicle also reports that there were several drownings in the River Rhine.

At this time of year, the hedgerows change and round here it looks set to be a bumper year for blackberries (Old English blackberry = brǣmelberġe. You can see instantly why our alternative word for these is 'bramble'. Imagine that final 'g' as soft, so a 'y' sound, and you get 'brambleberry')

You might find that the teasel (Old English tæsel or wulfescamb) is still in flower, but on the lane by my house, they've finished flowering. This was a photo taken in the last week of August:

Anyone who is familiar with my book, To Be A Queen  about Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, will know that in the novel, her family nickname is Teasel, because as a child she used to sit and comb her uncle's beard. That uncle was called Wulf, so 'Wulf's comb' was an apt name.

If you're lucky, you might also spot a weasel (weosule) or a field vole. I can't find an Old English word for vole, but the Anglo-Saxons must have known these creatures, surely? Let me know in the comments if you know differently.

September was known in Anglo-Saxon times as Hālig-mōnaþ "Holy Month" but an alternative is Hærfestmōnað - which is very recognisable as "Harvest Month". Bede described this a month of sacredness. Of course there are many Harvest traditions to this day, a way of celebrating and giving thanks for the abundance. In Anglo-Saxon times, the harvest was crucial to see folk through the winter months. One crop that would have been harvested then, as now, to be stored away was the humble æppel, which I'm sure needs no translating!  (Here's some from my small tree a few years ago)

Another Old English word associated with September is em-niht which means "equal-night", so the equinox. One of the reasons I mentioned at the top that this time of year depresses some people is that of course, in the Northern Hemisphere, it signals that the nights are drawing in.

September for me has always heralded the start of a new year - the school association is strong, especially as I taught for a number of years. It's going to be a busy time for me, writing/reading-wise.

Firstly, I've been honoured to be part of the judging panel for the prestigious Historical Writers' Association Nonfiction Crown Award, and we meet early in September to decide the longlist for this year's competition. 

Midway through the month, on the 14th, I'll be back in Tamworth talking about King Offa's 'Wicked' Wife and Daughter (tickets available here) 

At the very end of August I returned the edits, along with the index, for my forthcoming book Murder in Anglo-Saxon England, which will be published in February 2025 but can be pre-ordered HERE and of course on the Amazon sites.

This year, September begins on a Sunday, which in Old English was Sunnenday which again, needs no translation, I'm sure!

Old English is in many ways a completely different language from modern English, but also comfortingly similar at times, an enduring link between us and the Anglo-Saxons.

Lady Godiva - did she, or didn't she?

One of the most famous (or should that be notorious?) Anglo-Saxon women is Lady Godiva or, to give her her Old English name, Godgifu. And the thing she’s famous - or notorious - for is her naked horseback ride through Coventry.

But who was she, and did she really? And what did she have to do with my contribution for the anthology of 'What If' stories,  1066 Turned Upside Down?

First, that horse ride. The story goes that Leofric (her husband) founded the monastery at Coventry on the advice of his wife. He endowed the foundation with so much land, woods and ornaments that ‘there was not found in all England a monastery with such an abundance of gold and silver, gems and costly garments.’ Godgifu was keen to free the town of Coventry from such a financial burden, and yet when she spoke to her husband about it, he challenged her to ‘Mount your horse, and ride naked, before all the people, through the market of the town, from one end to the other, and on your return you shall have your request.’ Whereupon, she ‘loosed her hair and let down her tresses, which covered the whole of her body like a veil, she rode through the market-place, without being seen, except her fair legs, and having completed the journey, returned with gladness to her astonished husband’, who then freed the town from the aforesaid service, and confirmed what he had done by a charter. 

Except…the only source we have for the story is Roger of Wendover, a monk writing in the thirteenth century. Other sources suggest that the founding of Coventry was a joint enterprise (and none mentions the horse ride). A chronicle ascribed to a monk at Worcester, which is only just over forty miles from Coventry, written before 1118, stated that Leofric and Godgifu were jointly responsible: ‘[Leofric] was buried with all pomp at Coventry; which monastery, among the other good deeds of his life, he and his wife … had founded.’ 

It has been suggested that the documents recording Leofric founding Coventry were later forgeries and it might in fact have been Godgifu’s own lands which were used. (We know that she was a wealthy woman; possibly originally from northwest Mercia, she held lands in Leicestershire, Warwickshire, Staffordshire and Shropshire.)

Edmund Blair Leighton's painting showing Godiva
making her decision to take that ride

Along with the lack of corroboration for the story, the political situation at the time casts further doubt. Leofric of Mercia was a leading political figure. In the eleventh century, the old Anglo-Saxon kingdoms had become ealdordoms, or earldoms. Godgifu married into the leading Mercian family; her husband inherited his earldom from his father and passed it onto his son. In fact four generations of the family became earls of Mercia, the only family to achieve such a feat in this period. Leofric was described as pious, and being ‘but a moderate drinker’ and prayed in secret when his drunken companions were asleep. He was in power for over twenty years ‘without violence or aggression’. He was heavily involved in the succession crisis created by the death of Cnut, when two contenders vied for the throne. One, Harold Harefoot, was Cnut’s son by Ælfgifu of Northampton, and the other, Harthacnut, was his son by Emma of Normandy. 

At this time there were three leading earls, and Leofric was one of them. This particular game of thrones was very much directed by the two royal mothers, Ælfgifu and Emma, and was heavily reported. Had another high-ranking woman, wife of a leading and rather staid nobleman, done a public striptease, I think it would have been commented upon. One of the more contemporary records for this period, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, is quite detailed by this stage, giving over pages and pages to each year, as opposed to one sentence summaries for earlier centuries, but it doesn’t mention the horse ride. 

11th-century depiction of Queen Emma

Much of Leofric’s political career, and that of his son and grandsons, was tied up with the fortunes of Earl Godwine, and his son, Harold (he of the alleged 1066 arrow in the eye).

Leofric’s politics differed from that of Godwine, but all differences remained relatively civil. Not so when it came to these men’s sons.

In 1051, Godwine’s earldom stretched from Kent to Cornwall. He was father-in-law to the king of England, and his son Harold was earl of Essex, East Anglia, Cambridgeshire and Huntingdonshire. And this, strange as it may seem, is the start of the events that led to Godgifu playing a part in my story. Following an incident in that year, Godwine and his family were temporarily banished and Harold’s earldom of East Anglia was given to Ælfgar, son of Leofric and Godiva. But by 1052 the Godwines were back, which meant that Ælfgar was displaced from East Anglia. He regained the area briefly, but in 1055 he himself was outlawed, possibly on trumped-up charges. He launched a fightback, with the help of Gruffudd, king of the Welsh and, long story short, got East Anglia back. When Leofric died, Ælfgar succeeded him in Mercia, but the following year he was banished again, returning once more with the help of Gruffudd and around this time his daughter Ealdgyth was married to Gruffudd. Just a year or so after Ælfgar died, Gruffudd, crucially, was killed when Harold Godwinson and his brother Tostig launched an attack on North Wales. 

Had Ælfgar lived, it is unlikely that he would have supported Harold Godwinson’s election to the throne. He, far more than his father, had reason to resent the Godwines. He had been banished twice, and both times Harold had been involved. His son Edwin took over from him in Mercia, and another son, Morcar, became earl of Northumbria after Harold’s brother Tostig was disgraced. At some point in 1066, Harold married their sister, Ealdgyth. How she felt about being married to the man responsible for killing her first husband, we don’t know.

And this is the set up for my story in 1066: A mighty Mercian family pledged by allegiance and marriage ties to King Harold, but ever-present is the doughty grandmother, who has every reason to hate Harold Godwinson and his family. The brief was also to add a twist to the tale, so I looked at this rivalry between the two families, and I ran with it...

Little more is known of Godgifu. There was a later rumour that Hereward the Wake was her son, but there’s absolutely no evidence to support this. We don’t know when she was married, but as Leofric became an earl in 1023, it’s possible that they were married as early as 1010, and that she might have been born around 990. If she died even shortly after 1066 then she might have been well into her seventies, having lived through the reigns of Æthelred the ‘Unready’, Swein Forkbeard and Cnut, Harold Harefoot and Harthacnut, Edward the Confessor and Harold Godwinson, and lived to see William of Normandy crowned king of England. 

Pious, rich - in her own right as well as through her marriage - and an old lady to be reckoned with. But riding naked through the streets? I don’t think so. (But read the story, because she remembers it differently…)

Buy 1066 Turned Upside Down to read my fictional take, or read more about the real Lady Godiva in my nonfiction books:

Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom

Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England

[A version of this article originally appeared on Helen Hollick's blog]

Anglo-Saxon Women who left their Husbands

When were women legally allowed to petition for divorce? Perhaps one might guess at the late nineteenth or even early twentieth century?

In fact, the laws of King Æthelberht of Kent (c. 589-616) state that ‘if [a maiden married with proper payment of bride-gift] wishes to go away with the children, she is to have half the goods.’ I must admit, though, this is a little vague and hard to interpret.

However, even up to the eleventh century, women couldn’t be forced to marry a man whom they disliked, and widows could not be forced into remarriage. Women were not necessarily trapped in wedlock.

There are certainly a number of high-profile cases where women decided that married life was not for them. True, their (eventual) destinations were abbeys. But ‘Get thee to a nunnery’? No, it was more a case of ‘I’m off’. They weren’t banished, they chose to go. And in rather spectacular style, too...

Let’s meet some of them.

Cuthburh

Wimborne Minster [image credit]

Cuthburh was a West Saxon princess, a sister of King Ine of Wessex. She was instrumental in founding the first West Saxon monasteries. The Anglo-Norman chronicler William of Malmesbury recorded that she ‘was given in marriage to Aldfrith, king of the Northumbrians, but the contract being soon after dissolved, she led a life dedicated to God.’ William’s notes echo the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle which tells us that Cuthburh founded a monastery at Wimborne, and that she had been married to Aldfrith but that they separated ‘during their lifetime’. Clearly then, it was acceptable for a marriage to end and although the result was the religious life for Cuthburh, we don’t know if that’s the reason why the marriage was dissolved. It was, remember, ‘soon after’ dissolved, so maybe the couple took an instant dislike to each other?

In the next case, the yearning for the religious life probably was the driving force behind the divorce, but the route to that life was rather more dramatic.

Domneva (Sometimes Domne Eafe, or Eormenburg)

Saxon remains of Minster Abbey - photo by kind permission of the sisters

Domneva, daughter of a king of Kent, married Merewalh, who might have been the son, or son-in-law, of Penda of Mercia. The marriage lasted for a little over a decade before Domneva left Mercia and returned to Kent. The circumstances under which she left are recorded in a text known as the Mildrith Legend and the story concerns the murder of Domneva’s brothers by their cousin, Ecgberht, or rather by a servant of his, Thunor. Whether he ordered the killings, or was merely guilty of failing to stop his servant from committing murder, King Ecgberht was deemed liable. A wergild (man price) was owed in compensation, and Ecgberht paid this wergild to Domneva in the form of land on Thanet for her to found a monastery.

According to the Mildrith Legend, Domneva requested that she have as much land on Thanet as her tame hind could run around. As the hind ran, it was followed by the king and the court, but Thunor attempted to stop the animal and was swallowed by the earth. When the hind had finished running, Domneva was able to claim forty-eight hides of land, compensation had been duly paid, and Thunor got his comeuppance. As we’ve seen, seventh-century traditions allowed for royal couples to separate in pursuit of the religious life and Domneva would have been free to leave Merewalh even without her brothers being murdered. Were their deaths really the catalyst, and is the story true? If it is, it shows a shrewd woman who was wily enough to ensure the maximum grant of land for her religious foundation.

Perhaps the most fascinating story, though, is that of our next lady.

St Æthelthryth

Æthelthryth [image info]

Æthelthryth was the daughter of King Anna of East Anglia and in fact she was married twice, the first time to a man named Tondberht who was a high-ranking member of an elusive tribe known as the South Gyrwe. That first marriage lasted only a few years and she was apparently still a virgin when Tondberht died. Given what we know of her later life and the fact that, according to one source, she resisted for some time before agreeing to her first marriage, it is perhaps surprising that she agreed to the second, but it’s interesting to note that this indicates a certain amount of choice in the matter of marriage. She had retired to Ely Abbey and been a widow for five years before her marriage to Ecgfrith of Northumbria.

Ecgfrith was young, perhaps around 15, when he married Æthelthryth in 660. Æthelthryth was older than Ecgfrith by some margin, perhaps as much as a decade. Bede records that Æthelthryth refused to consummate her marriage and was encouraged in this by St. Wilfrid. In around 672, Æthelthryth became a nun, and apparently received her holy veil from Wilfrid.

Bede relates a simple tale, that ‘at length and with difficulty’ Æthelthryth gained her husband’s permission to enter a monastery, staying first with the abbess at Coldingham and then becoming abbess of Ely.

But what of her initial escape from the clutches of her husband? There is another version of her story. The Liber Eliensis, (the history of Ely Abbey) relates how Ecgfrith, having initially agreed to the divorce, then tried to remove her forcibly from the convent. The abbess of Coldingham advised Æthelthryth that her only option was to escape. The king set off in pursuit, but Æthelthryth and her two lady companions climbed to the top of a steep hill where divine intervention caused the water levels to rise. The king could not get near, and eventually returned to York.

In reality, it’s likely that Ecgfrith would have been glad to be rid of an older wife who refused to give him children. Nevertheless, whichever version one chooses to believe, note that even in the more dramatic version, Ecgfrith had initially agreed to the divorce. Æthelthryth clearly had a lot of say over her marital status.

(Incidentally, it is from her that we get the word ‘tawdry’ from her modernised name, Audrey. A fair held in Ely on her feast day became popular and items which had apparently touched her shrine were of low quality, hence ‘tawdry’.)

It must be remembered that life as an abbess was no punishment. Many of the abbeys were double houses, where monks and nuns lived, and it was not an isolated life. Abbesses ruled rich estates and were highly influential politically. They just didn’t always retire quietly!

You can read more about all of these women in my book Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England 

And Æthelthryth and Domneva feature in my novel, The Sins of the Father, the second in a two-volume series about Penda of Mercia and his family, and their enmity with the Northumbrians. It can be read as a standalone book.

Edith of Polesworth, Nun and Wife? Maybe...

With the study of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, the writings of Bede, the Welsh and Irish annals, and the later Anglo-Norman Chroniclers (many of whom had direct access to earlier documents), it is relatively easy to piece together the history of the kings of Anglo-Saxon England. 

But what of the women? Can we find anything? If we look at the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle we will find that from the entries in 672 until the arrival of Emma of Normandy in 1002, there are only a dozen or so women mentioned by name. Often we have an entry such as this one for 926: “Athelstan gave [Sihtric] his sister in marriage.”

Athelstan presenting a book to St Cuthbert - it's the oldest surviving portrait of an Anglo-Saxon King

Hmm. She was Athelstan's sister, and Athelstan was a king, so she was royal. Doesn’t she warrant a name-check? Who was she?

Athelstan’s father, Edward the Elder, had three wives by whom he had at least fourteen children. To discover the identity of the sister married to Sihtric, it’s probably easier to start at the end and work backwards. 

Eadgifu, third wife of Edward the Elder

Edward had married his third wife, Eadgifu, by at least 920, because we know that their firstborn, a son, was born in 921. Eadgifu had another son by Edward, and two daughters, called Eadburh and Eadgifu. Eadburh became a nun at Winchester and the Anglo-Norman chronicler, William of Malmesbury, tells us that when she was just 3 years old her father, wishing to ascertain whether she would choose the religious life, laid out a chalice and the Gospels, and some bangles and necklaces. When little Eadburh was brought in by her nurse, she was told that she could choose what she wanted, whereupon she immediately crawled towards the Gospels and chalice. She joined the community of Nunnaminster at Winchester founded by her grandmother Ealhswith, wife of Alfred the Great. Of Eadgifu, Eadburh’s sister, less is known. But given that Edward died in 924, she must have been born no later than nine months after that, and no earlier than 920, which makes her rather too young to be the bride of Sihtric in 926.

We don’t know if Edward was a widower in 920 when he married Eadgifu, but we do know that his previous wife, Ælfflæd, bore him six daughters. Two – Eadflæd and Æthelhild – took the religious life, while the other four made prestigious marriages. Eadgifu (yes, it seems he had two daughters of the same name!) married Charles the Simple, king of the Franks, while Eadhild married a Frankish duke, Hugh the Great. The remaining two, Eadgyth and Ælfgifu, were, apparently, both sent to Germany so that the future emperor, Otto, could choose one of them as his bride. 

Seal of Otto 'the Great'

Otto married Eadgyth – it was, apparently, ‘love at first sight’ – and Ælfgifu married another prince, whose identity is the subject of some debate but nowhere is it suggested that he was Sihtric.  It seems unlikely that the entry in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle refers to any of Athelstan’s half-sisters and, indeed, William of Malmesbury claimed that the bride was a full sister of Athelstan’s.

Athelstan’s mother, Edward’s first wife, Ecgwynn, barely emerges from the shadows and is not mentioned by any of the contemporary sources. Some said she was a concubine, while others said she was a wife. Sometimes she was described as high-born and sometimes as being of lowly birth. But, either way, her status was important.

When Edward died, Athelstan ruled Mercia while his eldest half-brother, Ælfweard, succeeded  in Wessex, dying a mere 16 days later. The statue of Edward’s sister, Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, outside Tamworth Castle famously shows her with her arm round a small boy, her nephew Athelstan, who was, apparently, brought up by her in the Mercian court. There is no contemporary evidence for this; the assertion comes to us from William of Malmesbury. But why would Athelstan have been brought up in Mercia? 

Æthelflæd

Athelstan’s subsequent rule over Wessex was not universally approved. After Edward’s death, the opposition there claimed that Athelstan was an illegitimate son of a woman of low birth. There are hints that Athelstan’s half-brother, Edwin, was also part of this opposition and was exiled by Athelstan, put to sea in a boat from which he then plunged to a watery death. Added to the fact that Ælfweard had been designated king in Wessex initially, while Athelstan was given Mercia, it is hard to conclude anything other than that Athelstan’s mother, Ecgwynn was, regardless of her class, no more than a concubine and not a wife. 

However, William of Malmesbury also tells us that Athelstan had been adored by his grandfather, Alfred the Great, and that when he was a young boy he had been given by Alfred a ‘scarlet cloak, a belt studded with diamonds, and a Saxon sword with a golden scabbard’. William also said that Alfred ‘made him a knight’ which is anachronistic, since technically no such rank existed in pre-Conquest times, but if it signifies some sort of investiture, it would suggest that his royal status was somehow acknowledged by Alfred.

Is it possible that, for whatever reason, Ecgwynn was put aside when Edward married his second wife, and that she and her children returned to Mercia, possibly the land of her birth?

I say ‘children’ because we are told that aside from Athelstan, Ecgwynn also bore Edward a daughter, although her identity is far from clear. 

There is a saint, Edith of Polesworth, who was said by some to be the daughter of Edward the Elder, although not all sources agree. Indeed we cannot be sure that, even if Edith of Polesworth was a daughter of Edward’s, she was also the daughter of Ecgwynn and, in any case, how could this religious lady have been married to Sihtric?

Polesworth Abbey Gatehouse - Author's own photo

Yet the Anglo-Norman chronicler, Roger of Wendover, named her as Edith, the sister whom Athelstan married to Sihtric, the Norse king of the Northumbrians. He went on to relate that after Sihtric’s death (only a year after the wedding), and having preserved her virginity, Edith retired to the monastery at Polesworth, which was in Mercia. She was venerated as a saint and if she was, indeed, Athelstan’s full sister then her return to Mercia, rather than Wessex, might make sense on two counts: that she, like her brother, was brought up at the Mercian court and that their mother, Ecgwynn, might have been Mercian herself.

Not all historians agree about Edith of Polesworth’s identity (some even suggesting that she was, in fact, Eadgyth, daughter of Edward by his second wife, Ælfflæd, who married Otto), but these stories do on the whole draw us back to Mercia time and again. Polesworth, incidentally, is in modern-day Warwickshire, in the heart of what was Mercia. 

Having accounted for all the other known daughters of Edward it does seem, on balance, that the sister whom Athelstan married to Sihtric could well have been Edith of Polesworth, daughter of Ecgwynn. And the story serves to show how much information we can glean, if we take the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle as a starting point and do a bit of detective work.

[all images are in the public domain unless otherwise stated. Photo by and copyright of the author]

If you'd like to read more about these Anglo-Saxon characters, their stories are in my nonfiction books, Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom and Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England, and Edith and Sihtric also get a mention in my forthcoming book, Murder in Anglo-Saxon England: Justice, Wergild, Revenge, out in Feb 2025 

You can also read about Æthelflæd, Athelstan, and Edward and his wives in my novel about Æthelflæd: To Be A Queen